


vision of the galaxy

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Civilian Mac, Gen, Good Friend Wilt Bozer (MacGyver TV 2016), Mac-centric, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, On the Run, Phoenix Foundation Agent Bozer, Runaway Mac, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, don't look at me, i'm not sure what this au is or where it came from either
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Angus MacGyver was a lot of things.What he didn’t usually consider himself was some kind ofbum. And yet, here he was.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 75





	1. decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame BlackVultures specifically for me writing this, because, well. She single-handedly got me into MacGyver and today I was sitting here, not sure what to write while I have the time between everything else, and then BAM I looked at her blog and this oldass AU smacked me in the face and made me write several chapters in a couple of hours.
> 
> Enjoy I guess?
> 
> ~~nah but girl thank you for getting me into a fandom and giving me ideas for it just by posting consistently enough~~

Angus MacGyver was a lot of things.

What he didn’t usually consider himself was some kind of _bum._ And yet, here he was.

Tracking Bozer down hadn’t been easy―he hadn’t seen the man since they were teenagers. It had been a long six years since then. _But_ Bozer didn’t cover his tracks as well as he did, and having been his friend for so long it wasn’t as hard as it could have been to identify his records and make an educated guess on his current location based on what stores he regularly bought from.

Still, it had been a stroke of genius and luck that he’d managed to find Bozer’s exact address.

And _God_ did he not want to be here.

Looking down at himself, at his torn and falling-apart jeans, at his beaten to Hell and back shoes, his two open flannels and ratty old t-shirt and threadbare fingerless gloves, he reminded himself he didn’t really get a choice in the matter. It was this or a shelter and given _Bozer_ might still actually care about him enough to help him out, the shelters around here weren’t exactly known for their compassion. He’d been on the run long enough to know that pretty personally.

He took a deep breath.

No point turning back now, though. Really. He’d hitchhiked and hiked and hotwired cars from Washington to get here and it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go. Anyone else to turn to. His grandpa was long-gone and he had no friends to speak of.

None except for Bozer.

Another deep breath.

He adjusted his backpack, straightened his shoulders as much as he could, and trudged up to the front door. The sun had gone down two hours ago and the temperature was dropping pretty rapidly, so hopefully Bozer would at least be willing to lend his couch for the night.

He rapped his knuckles on the door, instinctively using an old pattern that Bozer had come up with. He always knocked that pattern.

There was rustling inside, a shadow passed over some of the window-blinds.

The door creaked slightly open, and he was face to face with Wilt Bozer again for the first time in ten years. The man hadn’t changed much since then, but the few changes there were were striking. It knocked the wind out of his lungs. Bozer had facial hair now. He carried himself a little more confidently. He looked tired.

And then, as it processed just who he was looking at, as it processed that he was face to face with his best friend who had run away and disappeared at _sixteen,_ Bozer’s confidence and tiredness melted right out. His eyes widened, jaw going slack. He could almost hear the wheels turning, his heart starting to pound.

_“Mac?”_


	2. reunion

_ “Mac?” _ Asked Bozer, breathless and almost rooted to the spot in his surprise.

And Mac let his lips start to pull up into a smile. Looking at Bozer, hearing his voice―in spite of the shock of seeing him again, all he felt was  _ relief. _ Bozer was here. He’d been right. And he  _ recognized him! _ Recognized him in his ill-fitting, stolen clothes. With his shoddily-cut, unwashed and messy hair. Recognized him after ten years even though he was covered in dirt and grime and weeks of sweat.

“Holy shit,” Were the first words Mac spoke, hoarse and cracking because he really hadn’t spoken much in the last ten years if he could help it. “I was right―” He felt his shoulders sag a bit, “You do live here. It  _ is _ you.”

It’s not the reunion he would have hoped for, really. He’d have hoped to be clean. To have a more casual response ready. To not feel like he was going to faint.

“Holy shit,” Bozer echoed, staring and seemingly starting to piece things together,  _ “Holy shit, _ Mac. I― It’s―  _ You’re here?” _

“I’m here,” Mac croaked back.

And the next thing he knew, he was being pulled into a crushing hug.

He hadn’t been big on contact for the last decade, had cringed away from even a brush against someone else, but Bozer―well, he’d always been comfortable with him. He hugged back, hugged back  _ tight, _ and didn’t want to let go. Not at all. Not remotely.

“I’m gonna get dirt on you,” He croaked anyway, after a moment.

“Dirt comes off,” Bozer replied, unperturbed.

But he did pull back.

Gave him a once-over with his hands still on his shoulders.

“Jesus,” He uttered, “God damn, Mac, get in here.”

He pulled him inside without giving him much of a choice, and Mac could only laugh, relieved and a little blown away. This wasn’t exactly how he expected this to go. He expected… A lot more questions. A lot more.

But he wasn’t going to complain.

The less questions he had to answer, the better, at least until he had some food in his stomach and some sleep to make his brain stop acting up.

Bozer insisted on helping him out of his backpack and his two flannels, and he gave his shoes that look that told Mac he thought they needed thrown out. He felt himself flush a little bit as he carefully toed them off and sat his bag lightly next to the door. He felt bad bringing all this dirty, old stuff into Bozer’s house with him.

“God, dude, I have  _ so _ many questions,” Bozer said, leading him into the kitchen, “But first, you look like you need burgers.”

“... I would appreciate burgers,” Mac acknowledged, stomach grumbling and mouth starting to water just at the  _ mention _ of food. “Listen, I― Thank you, I know I showed up out of nowhere and I―”

“Sh,” Bozer waved a spatula at him, and Mac realized he’d already been cooking before he came to the door. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed the smell. “You’re welcome, but sh. We’ll talk about it later.”

Feeling rather sheepish, Mac nodded, and sat quietly. After a few moment of watching Bozer cook, he started to look around. Take in the room around him.

It felt… Distinctly like Bozer. Every decoration, every piece of furniture and cookware, right down to the  _ paint _ felt like him. Felt comfortable and lax like him. Fun. And for the first time in a decade Mac sort of felt like he could relax for a moment.

And he could. He knew he could.

If only for tonight.

If only for jut a few hours.

He had time.

So he let his shoulders sag, let himself lean into the back of the chair instead of holding himself up and feeling tense from head to toe. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. Okay. Okay, this was good.

He had somewhere safe for the time being. He had Bozer. He had countless things to improvise into weapons if he had to. There was no way anyone would be able to track him here without literally being directly on his ass or bugging his tech. He had  _ at least _ tonight to talk and relax and feel like a real person for a little while.

With a start, he realized he was still wearing his gloves.

He peeled them off―literally  _ peeled― _ and stuffed them into his pockets for the time being.

Then, he got up to maneuver around Bozer to the sink and wash his horribly dirty hands. God, ew, he felt bad for touching anything in the house with these.

Almost as soon as he sat back down at the table, Bozer turned to him with two plates at the ready and slid one toward him over the table. It was like they’d never stopped being friends. Like Mac had never left. There was a grin on Bozer’s face just like when he would slide a bagged lunch over to Mac at school when there was a test or science fair coming up because he  _ knew _ that Mac would forget to eat otherwise.

And, God, it was such a good burger.

Bozer was a good cook―either that or it had been so long since Mac had anything except the occasional dollar menu burger that anything with the slightest hint of seasoning and good meat tasted like heaven. Or maybe it was both. His tastebuds felt like they were exploding so it was  _ probably _ both.

He wolfed the burger down a lot faster than he probably should have.

Bozer didn’t say a word about it. Didn’t even watch him very closely.

Like this wasn’t weird. Like Mac had never left. Like he wasn’t filthy and sleep deprived and showing up out of nowhere after ten years.

But once Bozer was done with his own burger, well, Mac was expecting the questions that came. He chewed his lip and took in a deep breath before Bozer started, and told himself that he had to tell Bozer the truth. He had to. There was no time to come up with a convincing lie and Bozer was in more danger if he  _ didn’t _ know what was going on than he was if he did. At least if he knew, he could be prepared.

“Where did you go?” Bozer finally asked.

And, against his wishes, Mac winced at the question. Had to be that one, huh? But it was inevitable. He’d been prepared for this.

“As far away as I could,” He admitted, knowing the answer was shifty and non-specific. There wasn’t anything to be done about that. “I couldn’t stay.”

“Why?”

Ah, now there was the million dollar question. He winced at that one too, sighing by way of reply. It was a lot to get into. A lot to talk about, and he was tired and filthy, and he’d talk about it if he had to, but he’d prefer not to. For just a little while, he wanted to feel comfortable.

But he couldn’t hold off answers forever. He knew that.

“... That’s a long story,” He finally admitted. “Are you sure you wanna get into that right now?”

There wasn’t a question of whether or not Bozer would want to know. It was only a matter of when he’d really be willing to pry into it. If Mac was lucky he’d let him stay the night and he could do this tomorrow before he inevitably had to move on because there wasn’t any way Bozer was going to be able to offer anything more than a couple of meals, somewhere to sleep for the night, and maybe some clothes. If he was particularly unlucky tonight, Bozer would press right now.

For now, Bozer seemed to consider his answer.

“... How long are we talking, here?”

“A good couple hours if you want all the details.” Mac informed him.

Bozer squinted, then looked toward the clock on the kitchen wall. But then his eyes were back on Mac. “I’ve got until ten since I have to work in the morning. That enough time?”

And it wasn’t ideal, but if he had to work tomorrow then Mac needed to tell him now. No use delaying the inevitable. And he could leave when Bozer did and disappear back into the ether like he was sure he was going to have to. And he wasn’t going to blame Bozer one bit.

“Yeah,” He sighed, “Yeah, that’s enough time.”

And the expectant look on Bozer’s face told him to get on with it.

“... You remember how my dad left when I was ten?”


	3. message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, thanks so much to everyone who left comments on the first two chapters. I wasn't expecting that much feedback so soon!
> 
> I'm really glad that y'all are enjoying this so far!
> 
> Should be posting a chapter roughly ever day or so? Maybe more or less often depending on when I have time to write.

Mac’s dad disappeared right out of his life when he was ten, while he was at school one day.

His grandpa was there to pick him up that day. All his things were already at his grandpa’s house, set up just like they’d been at his dad’s place. His room was exactly the same, clothes in the same order in his closet, bed half-tucked in on the left side and pillows thrown about at the head of the bed with little care. His other shoes were in the cubby he’d been using since he was four. The school books he’d forgotten were on his little study desk in the same order, in the same spot.

It was like he’d been living here his whole life instead.

And he adjusted as quickly as he could to the change, because his grandpa didn’t know where his dad had gone either. Just knew he said he’d be gone a while.

Mac’s dad didn’t have a particular interest in him, and he knew that even at ten. It wasn’t hard to see the disinterest. Wasn’t hard to see the way his jaw stayed clenched when Mac was around. How he called him _Angus_ with that extra emphasis and undisguised disdain.

So it was jarring that his room was put together with such care.

But he’d take it, because he didn’t have to do it now.

And he’d push the memories of his father’s disinterest away and pretend he’d always lived with his grandpa.

After all, it wasn’t like his daily schedule changed all that much―it was just that now he had someone who gave a crap about him. And that was pretty cool!

Still, he did sort of wish he knew where his dad went.

But it wasn’t like it mattered. No one knew where James MacGyver had disappeared to. No one would tell him even if they knew―he knew enough about his dad to know that. He was too important to just go around talking about.

And for years things were pretty okay. Pretty normal, by his standards. He broke into science rooms and labs to test ideas, made fireworks in the back yard every fourth of July, forgot to eat when he was studying or working hard… He spent all his time with his head working as hard as he could get it to work.

But when he turned 15, he met Murdoc.

Murdoc was a little older than he was, probably not even actually _named_ Murdoc, and he was… Something else. Obsessive, for sure. Insistent, too. He talked about Mac’s dad like he knew him personally and it… Unnerved him. Ranted about how he was trying to steer him toward the military. Trying to get him to join up with his intelligence agency with gentle nudges from afar. Trying to control his life. _Manipulating_ him.

And it scared Mac to death.

It really did.

But he wasn’t scared of his dad, not really. If he was being steered toward his dad’s agency and the army then maybe when he was old enough, maybe once he joined up, he’d get to see him again. Maybe all that disinterest and disdain had been imagined! It was entirely possible that he could have dreamed it all up to make him leaving hurt a little bit less.

He wasn’t scared of being steered toward the military, either.

Honestly, the military and a government intelligence agency seemed like pretty solid career choices for him! If nothing else he’d be able to use all the things he’d learned for something _useful._ Maybe even help other people! That would be pretty cool.

What scared him, what had him _shaking in his boots,_ was knowing that his dad knew everything he did. That _Murdoc_ knew everything he did. Every grade he got, every time he got in trouble for breaking into the school at night, every time he got sick or acted out because he happened to be feeling particularly ornery, _they knew._ Grandpa Harry told his dad _everything_ by mail. And in turn his dad did everything he could to try and set him on the right path.

More than his dad knowing everything and manipulating him remotely, though, _Murdoc_ scared him.

And anything his dad knew, Murdoc seemed to know. He knew about him breaking into the school pretty much every other night. He knew about the day that his dad left.

He _strongly_ implied―no, _bragged_ and _confirmed_ that he was the one who set up his room in his grandpa’s room.

And that attention to detail made a lot more sense than Mac had wanted it to. He knew Murdoc for a week and he _knew_ by then that if nothing else Murdoc loved to create chaos through order. He liked things a certain way, just like Mac. Could appreciate that he had a set place for everything in his room. Had had a lot of fun putting his room together―said it was like putting together a puzzle. Said everything had just fit right into place.

It terrified him.

And when Murdoc offhandedly mentioned that he was here to keep an eye on him now, since his grandpa wasn’t saying a whole lot in his letters anymore, it just scared him worse. He almost started crying on the spot.

It was horrible, thinking about that. Thinking that Murdoc was going to be there. Watching him. Waiting in the wings and reporting everything to his dad. And Murdoc’s attention to detail meant his reaction to _all_ of this was going straight to his dad. If he so much as _sneezed_ his dad would know.

He hated it.

He went on with life as usual, of course, but he _hated_ it.

It left a pit in his stomach.

And life went on. Things didn’t really change, except that Murdoc was always there, in the distance. Always waiting. Always watching. And Mac knew he was around even if he couldn’t see him, and he couldn’t even _tell_ anyone. He didn’t even feel safe in his own room anymore.

He watched Murdoc gut a squirrel once, out in his grandpa’s back yard. Watched him through the window and felt his stomach turning. Felt everything tip sideways when he saw Murdoc’s grin while he did it.

Woke up there on the floor three hours later with a throbbing headache and a bloody nose from smacking his face on the window sill on his way down.

He couldn’t even enjoy his late-night jaunts to the high school’s science lab anymore, because he always knew Murdoc was there in the darkness behind him. Sometimes he even joined him in the lab and quizzed him on what he was trying to do.

On some levels, he liked having the conversation. Liked being able to talk about his thought process and why he thought things would happen. Liked knowing Murdoc was listening and wouldn’t tell him to shut up because he seemed genuinely interested.

But it was a temporary enjoyment. A very in-the-moment thing.

As soon as it was done and over with _every time_ he felt disgusting and a little violated and like he needed to hide under his bed to get away from this guy. That might be the only place he was safe.

Having him around was hellish.

* * *

It wasn’t really all that surprising to Mac that Bozer listened to his story for two hours without an interruption except to offer him something to drink.

It wasn’t surprising that Bozer listened and nodded along and seemed to actually process it all.

What was surprising was Bozer’s eventual response.

“So,” He began, slowly, “You’re on the run. You have been since you ran off in high school.”

“Yes,” Mac replied, carefully.

“And you’re trying to stay away from your dad and this Murdoc guy?”

“Yes,”

“And you’ve been homeless for ten years because of it, running up and down the West Coast like nobody’s business just to try and stay a few steps ahead of them and out of their reach.”

“... Yes.”

Bozer nodded, then. Chewed the inside of his cheek. “And you came to me to… What? Warn me? Ask for a place to hunker down for a little while?”

“A little of both?” Mac shrugged, helplessly, “And I was freaking out and worried about you after all this time and thought they might try to use you against me if they couldn’t find me.”

Bozer nodded again. Gave him a good once-over with squinted eyes. Chewed the inside of his cheek again. Mac was pretty sure he was going to start sweating, because this didn’t seem like a very promising reaction. It was fine if Bozer didn’t want him here, though! It really was. He was prepared to move on with a meal in his stomach and the knowledge Bozer would be ready.

He shouldn’t have even come here.

He _knew_ Murdoc could and, more importantly, _would_ go after anyone he stuck around too long.

That guy was… He’d killed two of the homeless folks Mac made friends with up in Seattle and crippled a few shelter attendants in Portland. He had _fun_ doing it. Made sure Mac would find them. Made sure those that lived wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

All the time, Murdoc was trying to drive him back toward his dad. Driving him toward coming out of hiding to do what he was _supposed_ to. He’d left messages with the attendants―letters to him. Once even a flashdrive with the video of him breaking the unfortunate girl’s legs in three different places and a map with exact directions of where to find Murdoc and potentially his dad.

Mac knew what he wanted.

And he didn’t want to give it to him.

But if Bozer became a target, he wanted him to be ready. He didn’t want Murdoc to track him down out of spite and do something to him, just to leave him evidence of that with the next murdered shelter hand or homeless twenty-something.

Bozer was a good guy, and he wasn’t near as stupid as people thought he was. He could figure something out to at least _survive_ Murdoc.

Bozer considered him for a long moment, and the only sound was the ticking of the clock as even the air conditioner shut itself off a couple of hours ago.

It made Mac want to _squirm._

“Stay here,” Bozer finally said, and it was somewhere between an order and a plea, “At least for a few days. Let me get you some real clothes and new shoes, get yourself rested and cleaned, if _nothing else.”_

Mac blinked.

“Bozer, I can’t―”

“I know you can’t _stay,”_ He interrupted, “But you don’t have to leave immediately. You’re still my best friend and I want you _safe.”_

He took a breath.

Felt tears in his eyes and his lips curving up a bit.

“... I―” He finally began, “Yeah, okay. A few days.”


	4. Dalton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the love and lovely comments <3 I wish I had the time and energy to respond to all of you guys personally, but please know I see and appreciate every single comment and kudo.
> 
> Also, this chapter ended up _way_ longer than I intended lmao

The questioning lasted for another hour after that, but the questions that followed were much easier to answer. How had he been surviving, did he have a phone or computer, what was he eating, where was he staying when he was on the move. Things of that nature. Things he had easy answers to.

He’d been stealing a lot, frankly. He didn’t have a phone because that required much more consistent money than he had and usually his legal name and permanent address which he also couldn’t provide. He had an _ancient_ laptop that barely ran but had a _great_ battery life and was generally considered by anyone he asked to be so freaking old it couldn’t run _solitaire,_ let _alone_ get a virus or host any spyware. He ate a lot of stolen food or stuff scavenged out of supermarket dumpsters, sometimes a hot meal from one of those particularly sweet family-owned diners who were willing to feed anyone who couldn’t afford it. Mostly he stayed under bridges, behind dumpsters, and under porches.

Bozer’s nose crinkled a bit at some of the responses, but he didn’t make any direct comments. He seemed to understand that Mac was doing what he had to and nothing more or less than that. He did seem to get a kick out of Mac puppy-eyeing his way into some generous donations from a few rich pricks over the years, though.

“Wait, so what’s your cover story when you get asked about who you are and why you’re on the streets?” Bozer asked, when it was getting almost scarily close to ten.

“I woke up on the streets when I was 16 and I’ve been wandering around trying to figure out where I came from since. I’m _really_ scared and I have no clue where I came from or who I am.” Mac shrugged, almost rolling his eyes. “Or if I don’t think that one’s going to fly, my dad kicked me out at 16 and I can’t get anyone to hire me so I’m still stuck on the streets.”

Bozer snorted once, then again at the second story. Shook his head. “I guess either one works, huh?”

“For the most part. Had a couple people refuse to believe me, but usually they’re pretty well received.” Mac paused, picking idly at his fingernails, “Shouldn’t you be going to bed soon? I thought you had to work tomorrow.”

Bozer’s eyes flicked toward the clock, and he went pale, then ducked his head. “Oh. Yeah, shit―okay, I’m gonna throw you some clean clothes and throw those in the wash for you, I’m gonna go to bed, and you can like… Take a shower? If you want? Would you be comfy sleeping in the living room? The guest bedroom’s a mess and―”

“Bozer,” He interrupted, a little amused, “I could sleep under this table and feel more comfortable than I have in _years,_ I can handle the couch. Or whatever patch of clean floor there is in the guest bedroom. I’m good.”

Flushing, Bozer nodded, “I’ll let you decide where you go, you know I’m comfortable with wherever you decide to put yourself as long as _you’re_ comfortable.”

And like, yeah, he _did_ know that. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t surreal to hear it. Bozer didn’t care where he was as long as he was comfortable. The guy would probably share his bed with him if he didn’t think Mac was uncomfortable with the idea.

It was nice to know that much hadn’t changed about Bozer.

They both got up from the table, then, and Bozer led him to the bathroom and directed him to just throw his stuff into the hamper with his. Then he disappeared into what was apparently his room and came back with a pile of clothes that Mac didn’t really look very closely at for the time being.

Then, with one last hug, Bozer informed him of which closet had his spare blankets and sheets and headed off to bed.

And Mac closed the bathroom door and stood there for a moment. Processed all of this at long last.

This evening felt so _long._ He felt like he’d showed up on the doorstep a week ago, or something. He didn’t feel like he was rushing from thing to thing for once, speeding his way through his life to try and stay a few steps ahead of Murdoc and his dad. Was this what hours sitting down and talking was supposed to feel like? Slow and unhurried and drawn-out?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt comfortable enough to sit still and talk for as long as he had with Bozer tonight.

Even sleeping through a full night in one hiding spot was a lot to ask of him nowadays. He spent so much of his time moving that laying still all night was horribly anxiety inducing. It made his skin crawl. So he’d wake up every couple of hours (if he even slept) to keep moving, find another place to settle down, and repeat the process until the sun came up and he forced himself through the day without another attempt at sleeping.

He stood there for a moment, revelling in how drawn out and _comfortable_ this had been in comparison to everything he’d felt recently.

Then, he stripped out of his dirty clothes and winced when, like his gloves, he had to _peel_ his shirt off. He dropped it into Bozer’s hamper with a grimace. Then went his pants, and his holey socks, and the only pair of boxers he owned. Those went in with a grimace as well.

He shuddered to think about the last time they’d been washed―though he hadn’t been wearing them _that_ long. He’d dug them out of his bag when his pants started rubbing him a little too raw because of the cold right before he started his trek down the coast to find Bozer.

It still felt nasty.

The shower, however, felt _heavenly._ He stood under the spray for several minutes just enjoying the heat and the way he could feel all the sweat and dirt washing _right_ off without any real effort. Actually washing himself was nice, too, because he hadn’t had decent body wash in _years._ The last time he’d managed to steal any from a store was back in about _2014_ and it had lasted him a year because he didn’t manage to shower very often, but it was _really_ hard to smuggle bottles of body wash out of stores now. Bars of soap, though? Much easier.

It was just too bad that they dried out his skin.

But Bozer had _good body wash,_ because _of course he did,_ and Mac was going to hug him forever for letting him use it. And don’t even get him started on being able to wash his hair.

He stood under the spray once again after he was done, relaxed and just trying to enjoy the heat and relaxation a little bit longer. He didn’t want to let go of this, he _really_ didn’t.

But he had other things to be doing.

He shut the water off, dried himself off with the towel that _didn’t_ look like Bozer had used it (for Bozer’s sake more than his own), and carefully got dressed in the old, well-worn sweatpants and well-loved high school sports-team t-shirt. It was definitely a welcome change from the jeans he’d worn down so soft and thin they barely did anything to stop the cold and the too-tight shirt he’d been wearing for the last two weeks.

He stepped lightly out into the darkened hall, flicking off the bathroom light and creeping through the gloom to the closet Bozer had pointed out to grab a couple of sheets and a blanket. He tried not to pull down any more than he needed, but the opportunity to snag a large comforter to lay on was too good to pass up, so he ended up with one of those too.

Now, the issue was deciding where he was going to sleep.

… Aw, who was he kidding?

He already knew he intended to find a clean spot of floor behind as much crap as he could in Bozer’s spare room and set up shop there.

He left the blankets and sheets piled neatly right inside the door to the room and scooted around all the piled up boxes and such. There wasn’t a bed in here, though he hadn’t even _remotely_ expected there to be one since this was _Bozer_ he was talking about. So he crept around until he found a table off in the corner against two walls and bordered by a pile of boxes on the other end.

Crouching, he found the table was tall enough he could sit beneath it without ducking too much.

Worked for him.

He pulled over a couple other piles of boxes to cover most of the front of the table so he felt a little bit more secure, then retrieved the pile of stuff he’d left at the door. The area was small enough he could keep the comforter mostly folded up to allow himself some more cushioning, and the sheets were really just an extra bit of padding.

He chewed his lip, tossing the blanket in without much care for where it landed or how, but didn’t enter his little nest just yet.

He wasn’t picky, didn’t really _need_ a pillow, but he would sort of like one. Lord knew his neck would appreciate it. He could always roll the end of the comforter up into a pillow, but then he’d have no choice but to curl into a ball because his legs were entirely too long for him to be comfortable otherwise with the comforter folded that much.

He puffed out a breath, snuck back to the living room, and stole a couple of the decorative pillows from the ends of the couch before retreating back to the spare room and closing the door behind him.

After carefully arranging the pillows, he climbed in through the small remaining gap and got as comfortable as he could. He barely managed to take a breath after that, really. He was out in seconds.

* * *

The next thing he was fully conscious of―aside, of course, from the stilted but oddly lucid dream he had―was the sound of Bozer up and moving around. Or, at least he _hoped_ it was Bozer. By all likelihood it couldn’t really be anyone else, though. It wasn’t like Murdoc was directly on his ass like he’d have to be to get here so quick.

Regardless, he crawled carefully out from the nest feeling groggy and disheveled, and he knew his hair must be a mess from sleeping on it while it was wet.

As long as it wasn’t in his face he guessed he didn’t care.

It wasn’t like his appearance was something he held in particularly high regard, anyway. He didn’t have the time or energy or _need_ to keep himself looking, like, conventionally attractive. The more disheveled he looked most of the time the better his chance of talking someone out of some food or a little bit of cash.

… He would ask Bozer if he had a brush he could borrow, though.

He crept quietly out of the room, still cautious despite being fairly sure it was actually Bozer out here. Whoever it was seemed to be trying to be quiet, but wasn’t very good at it.

Peeking around the kitchen doorway, he found Bozer wincing as he tried to get out various breakfast food ingredients from the fridge. Every time something was louder than he expected, he flinched.

Mac pressed his lips together to avoid smiling and decided he should probably wait to make his presence known. Bozer might hurt himself or break something if he startled him now.

He ducked out of the way before Bozer turned toward the stove, then peeked back around when he thought Bozer might be able to see him.

He still jumped, which just made Mac snort.

_“Christ,”_ said Bozer, placing a hand over his poor little over dramatic heart, “I didn’t know you were up.”

Mac could only snort again, shaking his head as he finally stepped out into the kitchen. “Mornin’, Boze.”

“Mornin’, Mac,” Bozer snickered in reply, keeping his attention on the stove even as he relaxed a little.

Mac moved quietly past him and examined what he’d pulled out, noting that whatever it was he probably wouldn’t be able to eat very much of it considering the size of his stomach these days. It looked like it was probably eggs.

“So when are you heading out for work?” He asked, instead of saying anything about food. Hopefully Bozer wouldn’t feel pressured to cook for him just because he was up.

“In about an hour. Gotta eat and then finish getting ready.”

“Mm.”

And after that? It was a pretty quiet morning.

Mac had a piece of toast for breakfast while Bozer wolfed down three eggs, two slices of toast, and a side of bacon. And then Bozer was off back to his room.

Mac chose not to question it too much or pay near as much attention as his brain wanted him to. Part of him screamed that he needed to know Bozer’s exact routine. Everything he did, every day, at the exact time―but that was unnecessary. Bozer was his _friend_ and it wasn’t as if he was going to be here very long. He didn’t have to sneak around him and learn his patterns so he could leave undetected in the middle of the night if he needed to.

So he just sat there and chewed on his toast.

And Bozer went about his morning routine uninterrupted.

When he peeked back into the kitchen at last, Mac was more or less just sitting there and wondering what the hell he was going to do today. He wasn’t used to not just packing up and going somewhere first thing in the morning. He hadn’t been able to settle down for more than a single night somewhere for a couple of years now… He especially wasn’t used to being in a house that he was sort of expected to feel comfortable in.

“Hey, man,” Bozer said, “I’m gonna be heading out soon. Obviously you know where the food is if you get hungry.” When Mac nodded his affirmation of that, Bozer nodded as well, “You mind doing laundry while I’m gone?”

“Not at all,” Mac said, getting up, “Least I could do, really.”

Bozer shook his head with an affectionate, exasperated sort of smile. Like he could tell that Mac was just trying his damndest not to thank him from here to Timbuktu because he knew that he wouldn’t accept the thanks. Like he just knew Mac was going to take on any task he asked because he felt indebted, and… Well, he was right.

Mac knew Bozer didn’t want to be thanked.

_But_ he also knew that Bozer wouldn’t be upset if Mac did shit to repay him as long as it was something that needed done anyway.

“Detergent’s above the washer,” He advised, then, as he was about to turn away, “Oh!”

“What?”

He looked a little sheepish for a second, smiling weakly, “You might get a visitor today? A buddy of mine from work swings by sometimes to drop off groceries while I’m at work.”

Mac winced a little bit. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

But he’d dealt with worse strangers than people that Bozer was okay with, so it couldn’t be _that_ bad, right?

… Right.

“Okay,” He said, out loud, and knew he sounded less than thrilled at the prospect, “Are they gonna know I’m here?”

“If he answers his damn phone before I get to work, yeah.”

Mac winced again. But that was understandable, too―wouldn’t want him freaking out over the stranger in his buddy’s house. Mac didn’t want to deal with that. He didn’t want to get into a fight with anybody Bozer worked with.

Not that he figured Bozer did anything particularly dangerous. It was more a matter of not wanting his brain to snap into kill or be killed mode with someone Bozer knew.

He didn’t think it would go over particularly well if he freaked out and beat the crap out of the guy, you know?

Still.

Once Bozer eventually walked on out the door, Mac let himself be anxious for a second. He wasn’t keen on meeting someone new, least of all someone who could easily misunderstand his reason for being here. He may be clean but he still looked like he’d come in off the street and he wouldn’t put it past _anyone_ in their right mind to sort of assume he was here to steal something. He wouldn’t even really be mad, because he’d had to do that before and if this wasn’t Bozer’s place that’d be exactly why he was even in here.

Not something he wanted to deal with right now, though.

He’d really, _really_ like to avoid it if at all possible.

After the second of anxiousness he allowed himself, he decided he might as well get started on that laundry and headed to the bathroom to grab the hamper.

It felt… Surreal.

He hadn’t done laundry in a _house_ since he was… God. He’d been doing laundry at laundromats since he was _twelve._

Still, he felt… Oddly comfortable. Bozer’s life etched into the very walls and floors around him just made him feel safe. Bozer had always felt safe, to him. Not surprising, of course, considering this was his _best friend,_ but regardless. It was a little disarming, which turned to him being rather unsettled when he realized just how lax he was being.

He hadn’t so much as glanced out a window in an hour, and he’d been _standing in the laundry room with the curtains open_ almost the whole time. He cursed, yanked them all closed, and ducked off into the spare bedroom to hide until his brain let him stop hyperventilating.

Being here was as much a good thing for him as it was a bad one.

Finally, some time later, when his breathing was even and his heart was calm, he emerged back out of the spare bedroom just in time to hear the dryer buzz to indicate the cycle was finished. Did Bozer fold his clothes, he wondered? Or did he just toss them all in his drawers like he did when they were teenagers?

It couldn’t hurt to go check.

He was halfway into the living room, partially turned to head back down the hall to Bozer’s bedroom, when he realized he could hear someone else moving in the house.

Oh, God.

Out of the kitchen came a man just a little taller than he was, with close-cropped hair and hard, suspicious eyes.

He already had his hand on his gun before either he or Mac opened their mouths.

“Who the fuck are you?” Mac blurted, and wanted to smack himself.

God, him and his big mouth. This was exactly how he was going to die―he was going to say some dumb shit like that at the wrong moment. Probably to Murdoc. And he was going to get shot, or _worse._

“I could be askin’ you the same,” The man snapped back, eyes even harder now than they’d been before.

_Aaand_ now the gun was out.

Lovely.

Wonderful.

Mac gritted his teeth and lifted his hands in surrender even when it made an unpleasant tremble go up his spine. He felt like a criminal. He wasn’t even doing anything _wrong_ right now. He was here because Bozer _asked him to stay_ or he’d have been gone before the sun came up today.

“Friend of Bozer’s,” He said, slowly, “You the buddy from work he mentioned?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but looked slightly less cold. “He told you I was coming by?”

“Warned me to expect company, yeah.”

And the guy hummed, and Mac knew that look. That was a “I’m not sure I believe you” face. God, he hated that face. But he was used to it. Way too used to it.

Rolling his eyes (and internally smacking himself for that ingrained response) he cocked his hip out and suggested, flatly, “You could, maybe, I dunno, _check your phone?”_

The guy squinted, and Mac rolled his eyes again as he made a slow reach for his phone.

And promptly looked sheepish as all get out when he evidently found exactly what he needed to see to confirm Mac was here with Bozer’s knowledge and consent.

“Hah,” He breathed, “Sorry about that.” He said, holstering his gun.

“No problem,” Mac rolled his eyes once more and dropped his arms to his sides, “Totally get being suspicious of strangers. ‘Specially ones that look particularly homeless.”

The other guy sort of winced a little, like the implication that he’d been distrustful just because Mac looked homeless wasn’t exactly _false_ (and believe him, he wouldn’t be surprised nor offended if it wasn’t) and being called on it made him uncomfortable, but crossed the space between them to offer a hand nonetheless. “Jack Dalton,” He offered.

“Mac,” He replied, cautiously accepting his hand and giving it a firm shake.

The way Jack’s eyes went wide and his grip sort of went lax, Mac assumed Bozer must have talked about him at some point. Or a lot. That face was one of horrified recognition.

“Wait, _you’re_ Mac? Bozer said…” He trailed, “... On the run, huh?” He guessed after a quiet second.

With a rueful smile, Mac drew his hand back and crossed his arms, “Have been for ten years. He convinced me to stick around long enough to rest up and get some new clothes.”

“Sure sounds like Bozer,” Jack agreed.

It was… Awkward.

But, in the silence, Mac was able to give Jack a better looking-at. He looked―well, there was this particular _feeling_ to guys who used to be in the army, you know? And a particular look… Both of which were present in Jack. He had the feeling floating around him of witnessed horrors never to be mentioned in the light of day and he had that stiff-shouldered, straight-backed way of holding himself Mac usually saw in his type.

As if the dog-tags wouldn’t have given it away.

Still, overall? Jack was handsome. Mac would give him that. And his eyes were way too open and unhindered―very pretty, very vulnerable. Mac could happily spend the next couple hours staring at him, staring into those _eyes._

But that would be weird.

“I’d better go get the laundry out of the dryer,” He finally said, to break the silence and the awkwardness.

“Yeah, right,” Jack agreed, and swiftly got out of his way so he could head in that direction, “I’ll be finishing up here soon, so I won’t be in your hair much longer.”

Mac threw a, “‘Kay,” over his shoulder, disappeared into the laundry room, and watched as vaguely as he could around the door frame while Jack finished up. He had to wonder why the hell Bozer needed someone to bring groceries over while he was at work, really―it’s not like Bozer was incapable of grocery shopping, right? He was a grown man with a job and all the social skills necessary to walk into a store and buy what he needed.

Well, for the most part, at least.

But, eh, maybe not.

He had to admit he didn’t know as much about Bozer as he would like to think he did. Not anymore. And this Jack Dalton guy just pushed that idea a little bit further. Bozer was very much still his best friend, but…

Well.

It _had_ been ten years.

He squinted at Jack while he balled up his plastic grocery bags and shoved them into the bag on the inside of the pantry, and realized he had a lot of learning to do today. He couldn’t just sit here and be completely relaxed and reliant on Bozer’s hospitality to keep him safe. He couldn’t even trust that Bozer’s judgement would keep him safe.

This Jack guy? He could have killed him. He could be working for Murdoc.

… Which would be a shame. He was cute.

Clenching his jaw, he eyed Jack leaving the kitchen without turning his body toward him, and decided he was going to have to do some digging.

He hated to invade Bozer’s privacy, but…

He had to know _everything._

“See ya,” Jack called, “Nice meeting ya, Mac.”

“Yeah,” Mac replied, and he managed to keep the tenseness out of his voice through some miracle, “You too.”

And as soon as the door clicked shut, already locked, behind Jack’s back, Mac abandoned the dryer and the half-removed contents to head for Bozer’s bedroom.


	5. spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I'd toss up this short lil chapter today too haha
> 
> I've got a couple more written and I gotta write as much as I can before I start work on Thursday and wipe myself out

If there was one thing that Murdoc and years running from him had taught Mac, it was how to snoop and gather as much information as he could in a very limited timeframe.

He had no idea what hours Bozer worked, for instance, but he figured that if he was banking on an eight hour shift he only had about six hours left to learn as much as he could. So he needed to work fast and put everything he’d learned in the last ten years to good use. First order of business?

Rifle through his drawers.

Then go through his closet and any other possible hiding places like crawl-spaces or attic space.

Then go through his computer.

And knowing Bozer? He would absolutely need all of those steps, because this man wouldn’t be able to just keep everything hidden away in one or two places. Important facets of his life would be spread around... So Mac would need the entire six hours he was pretty sure he had to work with.

No time like the present.

And when he finally found himself on Bozer’s computer, flicking his fingers over the keys and guessing the right password on the first try, he’d already found out plenty about the guy. Plenty that had changed since high school.

Like the boxes of ammo stashed around in his drawers and the closet and even the bedside table’s cabinet. The hand guns hidden away under the bed. What looked like a bag of tac gear on the top shelf of his closet, hiding a loose ceiling panel that opened into a crawlspace that contained more MREs than any one sane person should have.

He could only imagine what he was going to find on the laptop.

He paused after guessing the password, setting it aside on the bed and pacing out into the rest of the house to check out the windows. Make sure Bozer wasn’t home yet. That no one else was out there trying to watch him.

And then he returned to Bozer’s bedroom and took the deep dive into his personal files and browsing history.

It was… Unpleasant.

But he learned a lot about his friend.

And not all of it was about his taste in women, thank God. There was actually some decent information to be found about him in there, if you looked in the right place. If you could just figure out where to look.

There were… A lot of google searches about particular places and things that, really? A guy living in LA didn’t really have much business looking up. Not that Mac could really _fault_ him for that―sometimes you got curious. But these were… Oddly methodical. Timetamps mere minutes apart on most of them as long as they were about generally the same place or thing, with very little time in between them otherwise. It seemed like every week or so he was looking up a new place and a thing there.

It was nothing incriminating or scary, of course… Just something to think about and keep in mind later on. It was certainly evidence of _something._

He wiped out any trace he could of him having been on the computer, logged out, wiped his fingerprints off to the best of his ability, and set it back exactly where he found it. Then he returned to the laundry room and set about finishing up the laundry now that he knew for sure that Bozer folded his clothes.

He had an hour to spare and little more snooping he could do in that time.

Still, with the clothes done he sort of… _Lazily_ snooped around the rest of the house. Examined all the pictures and games and movies Bozer owned, went through the cabinets, things like that. Things that, if Bozer caught him doing, wouldn’t be nearly as incriminating as finding him on his computer or in the top of his closet.

After all, if someone was in your house all day alone, surely you sort of expect to come back to them going through your pantry?

This also turned up some sticky notes on the fridge that he hadn’t noticed before that Bozer couldn’t even be _mad_ about him snooping on. They were bright pink and orange and green, for God’s sake. How could he _not_ notice them?

_Have Riley back up hard drive 3/19_

_Jack - put bags in pantry please!!!_

_take out trash b4 dinner_

_Don’t forget: use eggs before month ends!_

And there were more, all sort of along the same lines. Notes to Jack and notes to Bozer. There was one written in someone else’s handwriting―a fine, careful sort of scrawl that simply said, _‘Start deleting your work browser history, Dumbass.’_

‘Dumbass’. With a capital ‘D’.

They must know Bozer pretty well, huh? That was… That was good. Mac was glad he had friends. Or acquaintances. Or whatever this person was to him.

He was still there examining the notes when he heard the front door unlock, and he went tense from head to toe.

“Mac?” Called Bozer, and there was only his set of footsteps entering the house, “I’m home.”

He forced himself to relax, popped out of the kitchen doorway, and said, “Hey, Boze.”


	6. party

They didn’t spend much time together that night. Bozer’s work friends had decided they were coming over, no questions asked, for dinner, and he’d come home as fast as he could to warn him. He also went out of his way to apologize about Jack.

Mac waved him off, made a rather pointed remark about how he’d _probably_ be in the spare room all night, and slipped off when he heard tires in the drive way.

Bozer’s apologetic and nervous wince and the way he bit his lip told Mac that this wasn’t ideal for him either. Or that he didn’t want Mac running off to self-isolate right after he got him here… Not that it mattered.

Mac didn’t do well with crowds, and he didn’t really want to see Jack again.

It wasn’t much later that he heard Jack’s voice (and a couple of other voices, which were decidedly feminine) mixing in with Bozer’s and the house started to feel very much alive. Mac sat against the door, like the nosy little brat he knew he was, and listened.

“So where’d your houseguest run off to?” He heard Jack ask, and noted with some relief that he’d avoided saying his name.

“Oh, him?” Asked Bozer, in return, “He’s not a fan of people. You probably won’t see much of him tonight.”

“What a shame,” Said one of the more feminine voices, “I’d have liked to meet him.”

“Same.” Said another, “But he sounds like my kinda guy.”

“Oh, yeah, you just can’t _stand_ people, Riles.” Mac could hear the way Bozer rolled his eyes. Could almost see the amused and annoyed upturn of his lips. “You’re _so_ not a people-person.”

“I hate people,” She replied, and he could almost hear the shrug, “But a few of them are pretty cool, and in case you hadn’t picked it up from the fact that I hang out with _Jack,_ my type of person is the type that _also_ hates people.”

And they descended into friendly conversation, and Mac took a deep breath and pried himself away from the door. They sounded… Like a lively, but friendly bunch. They’d definitely known each other a while. He wouldn’t intrude on that. He could eat and do anything else that required him to leave the room _later._

He crawled into his little makeshift nest and pried his laptop out of his backpack, which he’d tossed next to the table earlier in the day. It was better than doing nothing all night.

* * *

The night that Mac ran away was a cold one.

Cold enough that anyone in their right mind was inside a house.

The temperature was supposed to drop into the low twenties tonight, but here in a week or so things were supposed to start levelling out into warmer, spring weather, several weeks later than expected. Murdoc didn’t hang around outside all night to watch him in the winter, and he only had a few more nights to get the fuck out of dodge without being followed directly.

He expected to be anxious, packing up some of his stuff with the intent to disappear. He expected to be scared, to feel bad for abandoning Bozer and his grandpa. He expected to cry, or chicken out.

But as he carefully packed away his least recognizable, dark-colored clothes into a backpack, he started to realize that none of those feelings were coming. Not yet. Right now he just felt… Detached. Cold and resolute.

He pulled on a new-ish jacket over his dark-patterned flannel, shouldered his bag, and looked around. Everything was still in its place. His laptop and school books sat where he’d put them after school this afternoon―or, rather, yesterday afternoon, now. The rest of his clothes were still hung up and organized painstakingly to ensure ease of outfit-picking in the mornings. His other shoes were all neatly put away. His school backpack was on the back of his chair.

… Everything in its place.

He didn’t leave a note, or really even _consider_ leaving one.

He needed to disappear, and if he left a note? That would just give insight into why he was leaving and he didn’t need that. Those that mattered would know why he left, and they’d never stop looking for him. Everyone else… Well, they didn’t need to know. It wasn’t their business, wasn’t their concern.

Better for all of them if he just vanished.

And he hated to hurt Bozer and his grandpa like that. He _did._ But it would be a temporary hurt. Within a year it probably wouldn’t even hurt anymore. It wasn’t like he was anything special.

He ducked out of the house, locking the door behind him like he’d never even left.

Come morning, his grandpa would know he was gone. Murdoc would know.

By tomorrow afternoon, his dad would know.

Within a couple of days, there’d be a missing person’s investigation, and he’d have to lie low.

He could do that. He could learn.

He had experience from hiding from Murdoc… If he’d managed to successfully do that as many times as he had now, he could hide from the police.

He just had to get as far away as he could as quickly as possible.

So as soon as he found a car―some high school classmate of his left it parked out front of their house, and he partially decided on it out of spite―, he picked through the door lock and hotwired it. Drove out of town and headed north.

Left it on the side of the road a town away and wiped his fingerprints off and out of it the best he could. Used some packing tape to pick up any of his hair.

Hunched up his shoulders and took off down the road on foot.

And a week later, he was in Seattle, hunkered down in a restaurant booth watching the news while he slowly ate his food. No stories about him yet up this far north, which was good. It meant he had time to figure out somewhere to disappear to a little more permanently. He just had to hope he hadn’t left any useable evidence behind in any of the cars he’d stolen or the trucks he’d hitched rides in the beds of.

The last thing he needed was crimes linked to him when he was already going to be in deep shit if he got caught. If Murdoc found him… Oh, God, he didn’t even want to think what he might do. He couldn’t kill him because Mac’s dad would do worse to him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t torture the fuck out of him and just neglect to mention it later.

He shuddered at the thought, stomach turning, and forced himself to keep eating.

Three months later and he was in the middle of a forest back down in Oregon, hiking his way to the nearest town so he could snag a newspaper and see if anyone had heard any news about his case. Word of it had spread up to Washington by then. It scared the crap out of him, and he had to keep moving. Couldn’t stay in one place while his face was plastered all over everything.

Part of him wondered if this was worth it. If maybe he should have just stayed and let everything play out the way Murdoc and his dad wanted it to. If he should have just smiled and pushed through instead of booking it and dropping off the face of the planet. It felt so _stupid_ now.

But there was no way he was going back.

This may not be much of a life, but at least he got to pick what he did. At least he’d _chosen_ this. It was better than being carefully nudged and watched like a hawk while he stumbled down the road picked out for him by his dad. He was tired of the nudging and he was tired of Murdoc and his… Creep-factor.

Tired of being watched. And pushed. And told that he’d probably end up doing what his dad wanted even if he tried to get away from it.

He trudged onward and pushed the thoughts out of his mind.

He just had to last until they decided he was probably dead and gave up.

* * *

_Angus “Mac” MacGyver has been missing for the past ten years._

_Last seen when he was 16, searches for him lasted two years, spurred on by his best friend Wilt Bozer, and his aging grandfather, Harry MacGyver. He disappeared late one night soon after his 16th birthday, leaving no note and no means of finding him. His cell phone and laptop were found in his room, along with his school supplies and most of his clothes._

_Mac was a very intelligent and resourceful young man, known for improvising necessary items out of whatever was in reach, and for breaking into the high school science lab on a semi-regular basis to perform experiments. His intelligence placed him leagues ahead of his classmates, and he was reportedly being scouted already by MIT._

_Though his grandfather has since passed, and his best friend has moved on with life, Mr. Bozer still holds onto hope that his best friend is out there and safe._

_If you have any information, please contact the police in_

Mac snorted, rolling his eyes as he reached the end of the article. He wasn’t surprised that they were still putting them out―was even less surprised that he hated that picture of himself even more now than he had ten years ago, when it was taken. They always used the same goddamned one.

He shook his head.

Well, maybe one day he could give the general public some peace of mind. As it was, though? He was disappearing back into the ether as soon as he left Bozer’s place, and hopefully he wouldn’t have been there long enough to draw Murdoc’s attention to Bozer.

He jumped a little when there was a knock at the door, pushing his laptop away and popping his head out from under the table. Another knock came, and he scrunched up his face in discomfort. Ugh, he’d bet anything Bozer’s work buddies were still here.

But he crawled out from under the table nonetheless and sat himself in the middle of the floor, in view of the door between some boxes. “Yeah?” He called, just as the next knock came.

And Bozer’s head popped in around the door when it opened. “It’s just me and Jack, now,” He said, “If you wanna come out and eat.”

His stomach grumbled before he could say he wasn’t hungry, so he bit down on the inside of his lip and nodded, getting up. “Okay, yeah, thanks.”

Bozer didn’t question him as he left the room, didn’t ask what he’d been doing while the rest of his friends were there. Didn’t even ask where he’d been sleeping in there last night.

“Heya,” Jack greeted, much more lax now and holding a bottle of beer while he lounged on the couch.

“Hey,” Mac replied, and didn’t say much else after that because Bozer presented him with a plate of food and that took priority over socializing.

He caught Jack watching him while he ate and didn’t really have the energy to ask him why. He guessed it didn’t really matter.

Jack could stare at him if he wanted, he guessed. He would hardly be the first person and he sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. Mac got stared at… A lot.

“Sorry,” Jack said, when Mac raised an eyebrow after a few moments, “I just― You don’t really look at all like the picture they use in the posters, hoss.”

“It’s been ten years,” Mac shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of food, “And this is the first chance I’ve had to change my clothes and take a shower in weeks. You’d look different than a high school picture of you too.”

Bozer looked a little uneasy next to Jack. Like this subject felt bad to him.

But Jack just nodded along, like that made perfect sense to him. “Ya never think about how much time can change a person until you see it.”

“Mm.” Agreed Mac, eloquently, as he dug back into his food.

Bozer relaxed a fraction.

And it wasn’t as horrible as Mac had kind of expected it to be. Jack and Bozer eventually delved into a conversation, and Mac, _eventually,_ joined in. It felt much more comfortable than being alone with Jack had, and he got a chance to see the two of them interact. They must have known each other a few years now. They had inside jokes and seemed overtly comfortable with each other.

That was good.

It was good Bozer had someone like Jack around.

And Jack?

Jack seemed like he both needed and deserved Bozer.

Mac wouldn’t fault either of them that. He just hoped that they stayed friends after Mac had to leave again… Not that he could think of a good reason why they wouldn’t. He didn’t know Jack well enough to make any assumptions and he didn’t want to assume that Bozer was going to miss him so much that it pushed him away from his new best friend. Bozer was still his friend, but he doubted he took up _that_ much room in the guy’s heart. Not… Not after ten years.

He hated that it was more depressing to think about leaving _now_ than it had been ten years ago.


	7. supply run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are gonna slow down again after this :c  
> I start a warehouse job tomorrow to help ship out people's supplies so I'm only gonna have about two-three days a week to write without being completely dead on my feet. Hopefully after the first couple weeks I'm used to it enough that I'll be able to get back into writing the way I used to even when I get home from work but who knows  
> Gotta say I am _not_ looking forward to the 10-hour shifts. I'd really prefer to just stay home (like I'm supposed to) but people need their supplies and if I don't take this opportunity for a job that literally hired me for showing up to the interview my mom will never let me live it down lol
> 
> Anyways enough of that, hope you all enjoy this chapter <3

The next morning started much the same way as the previous one.

Mac woke, bright and early, to Bozer already awake and cooking breakfast.

This morning, however, Bozer didn’t seem particularly thrilled. He was chewing his lip while he cooked, shifting from foot to foot. When he saw Mac, he greeted him with a mile and the same sort of cheer Mac expected of him.

But there was something wrong.

“Hey, Mac,” Bozer finally said, midway through their meal a considerable amount of time later, “I, uh… I have some work business I have to leave town for.”

Mac bit down on the inside of his cheek. Oh boy. He was getting kicked out early, wasn’t he? Because of some unforeseen circumstance at work, and Bozer not wanting him in his house by himself any longer than he needed to let him be. It would make sense! Even if Bozer loved him to pieces, he was practically a stranger now. Leaving him here for eight hours? Reasonable. However long he’d be out of town?

Not so much.

But before he could say anything, before he could tell Bozer he understood and he’d be out before Bozer even left for work, Bozer continued.

“I’m gonna be a gone for a few days, nothing crazy―they just need me to look at some stuff, you know? But I won’t be gone long. You gonna be okay here by yourself?”

Mac blinked. “... You’re willing to let me stay while you’re gone?” He asked, slowly, not sure he was processing this right.

Bozer blinked back at him.

“... Why wouldn’t I be?” He finally asked in return, “It’s not like you’re some kind of horrible criminal or a complete stranger―I’ve known you since we were eating dirt on the preschool playground, Mac, I trust you in my house.”

There was a pause, and Mac tried to process.

“I just… It’s only a few days, okay? And I know you’re a grown man and you can take care of yourself, and if you want to leave now I wouldn’t try to stop you.” Bozer said, visibly uncomfortable and worried, “But I― I wanna be able to actually help you a little. I don’t want to come back to you being gone. And maybe that’s selfish! But I really just… I want to be able to know you’re okay for  _ sure _ when you finally leave.”

“... Yeah,” Mac finally said, in reply, “I’ll be okay by myself for a few days.”

Bozer sagged in relief.

“... But where the hell are you going? Where do you even  _ work _ that needs you to leave town?”

He couldn’t help asking. Couldn’t help the curiosity. If he worked with someone like Jack… He wasn’t sure he liked the implications now that this ‘leaving town’ thing was in the mix and he’d moved past the hurdle of feeling he was going to get kicked out. Like, it was kind of weird, really.

And he  _ might _ be looking too far into things. That was possible. He  _ could _ be being paranoid and drawing conclusions that were completely out of the realm of actual possibility and just seemed possible because his brain decided to be a dick. He was well aware he was being way more cautious and paranoid about all of this than he’d have been if he hadn’t been on the run for the past ten years.

“It’s a, uh… Think tank, technically?” Bozer said, carefully. “I’m not exactly an essential employee for it, that’s really more Jack and Riley’s deal, but having a regular Joe around when the talks get a little dicey and they’ve all stared at the evidence too much to see what’s really going on seems to help.”

Mac squinted.

Bozer working for a think tank seemed… Unbelievable.

Definitely not something he’d have expected back in high school. But it  _ had _ been ten years. He had to keep reminding himself of that. It had been ten years and Bozer was  _ different _ now.

“... So you’re leaving town to go to a talk?”

“To look at some evidence they dug up on the main issue they’ve got me, Jack, and Riles on, yeah.”

“... Okay,” Mac finally replied again. “Sounds… Boring. Not something I expected for you.”

“Work hard, play harder,” Bozer joked, gently, “If I get the boring job where I don’t have to do much out of the way during the day, I can usually party on weekends.”

Mac snorted.

And he pointedly did not ask when Bozer left the house with the bag of tac gear he’d seen in his closet the day before. He just filed it away for later. Maybe it was Jack’s. Maybe he kept it here.

Who knew.

… Definitely not Mac.

But with Bozer gone for the next few days, Mac had free reign of the house. To snoop, to get comfortable… Whatever he ended up doing.

An hour or so in, while he was washing the rest of his clothes and trying to figure out Netflix―don’t start with him, he’d been broke and on the run for the past ten years―a knock came at the front door.

He paced over to it carefully, ducked low to avoid any shadows on the blinds. And then, peeking out through one of the little windows in the door, he saw a girl probably a little younger than he was waiting with the most bored expression she could seem to muster. She looked a little annoyed, too.

He pulled the door open a fraction.

“You Mac?” She asked, with an eyebrow cocked. At his narrow-eyed, careful nod, she rolled her eyes and stuck out a hand, “Riley,” She said, “Bozer wanted me to toss you a burner phone so he could keep in touch.”

He took her hand, shaking it. “You were here last night,” He said, instead of acknowledging the rest, “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Snorting, she rolled her eyes again, but smiled, “Somebody taller, maybe?”

“Or more goth,” He conceded, finding himself smiling a little as well.

Laughing, she dug a bag out of the one slung over her shoulder and held it out to him, “Dunno what all he threw in here, but I know there’s a burner phone for sure.”

“Thanks,” He said, accepting the bag.

“No problem. See ya, Mac.”

And she was off back down the drive to the car waiting on the road.

He saw Jack in the driver’s seat.

He almost waved.

He clamped down on the urge and watched them drive away before he closed the door and locked it again. Retreated to the couch.

Opened the bag and pulled out the burner phone to investigate it.

It already had a text.

_ B: heya mac! there should be enough money in the bag to get you through until i get back c: buy some stuff for yourself you heathen _

He barely held back a snort, then had to restrain the knot in his throat.

_ M: thanks boze _

Could he even go to the store? He hadn’t ever tried to go into one here in LA, even if he’d been here a few times in the past. It was too close to home, like most stores in Cali… But hey. If he didn’t do it now he wouldn’t get another chance until he was out of state, and he knew Bozer would want him to leave with the supplies already in his possession.

He counted out the cash left for him and felt his mouth go dry. That was… A lot.

Way more than he felt comfortable taking.

… But he knew Bozer well enough to know that he didn’t really have a choice. If he tried not to use it, tried to give it back, Bozer wouldn’t take it. He’d probably sneak it into his stuff, frankly.

Well, he might as well stock up, then.

He could figure Netflix out later.

He felt more anxious than he’d been in a long time the moment he entered the store.

He’d spent a few minutes before he even left Bozer’s place in front of the bathroom mirror, trying very hard to tame his hair and wondering if he  _ might _ need to shave his beard and moustache off. He didn’t feel like he really looked like himself while he had them.

But shaving them off now would just make him colder later, when he had to leave and go back to sleeping under porches and park benches. He needed all the insulation he could get.

In the end he just kept the beard and moustache despite how very wrong they felt. He left with them put into as much order as he could get them into.

And he walked into the store in a pair of Bozer’s sweatpants and a high school hoodie. All of his own clothes were… Well. They were wearable, but better kept for when he needed to get back out. If he wanted to shop, they wouldn’t lend very well to the idea that he was a paying customer.

At least in the hoodie and sweatpants he just looked like some dude who hadn’t left his house in a while.

He paced the aisles a while, with a basket on his arm. Observed all the options he had for soap, and some assorted materials he could use to improvise things. Finally decided on a set of body wash and hair products, grabbed some bobby pins and other assorted items, and almost guiltily wandered his way up to the cashier. It wasn’t really even that much money to be spending, but it was so much more than he wanted to spend…

He hadn’t even put a dent in the pile of cash that Bozer gave him.

Which… Either said something about the amount of money, or it said something about how cheap his tastes were. Either way, he still had plenty left over.

He paid for his purchases, made sure to smile and say thank you to the cashier, who was looking a little bit run down, frankly, and let the store with his bag of goodies. Chewing his lip, he spotted a nearby consignment shop and decided, fuck it, he had more money leftover than he necessarily knew what to do with and he apparently still knew how to be thrifty. He could find at  _ least _ a coat or a scarf in there, he was sure.

He entered.

Plodded around a little bit and winced a lot at most of the price tags. Even for a consignment shop some of these were pretty expensive… Not that he was surprised. Place had to make some cash somehow.

But he  _ did _ manage to find a coat and a scarf, so at least there was that.

With some more looking, he managed to get another couple of pairs of pants.

… It still didn’t really put a dent in the fund Bozer had given him, so he guessed he’d better start planning what to do with the rest of it. The most intelligent thing would be to save as much as he could and slowly work through it over the next few months. If nothing else it kept him from having to steal anything for a while. He might even be able to buy a hot meal or two during the winter if he was careful.

Thankfully there were only a couple of months left of that.

He stuffed his new clothes into his bag once he arrived back at Bozer’s place and placed some of the other items on the coffee table… Mostly the sketchbook and package of mechanical pencils. He wasn’t an artist by any means but… Well. Having somewhere to toss his design doodles and jot down some of his improvised recipes would be helpful. Having it all on unlined paper so no details were obscured would be even better.

Still feeling a little weird about it all, he shucked off his shoes and the hoodie and curled up on the couch.

… Back to Netflix.

At least that felt  _ kind of  _ normal.


	8. a little paranoid

Cooking for himself turned out to be an adventure, since he had to spend an unrealistic amount of time staring at recipes online in order to make any headway at all in making something that was edible.

And he spent an unorthodox amount of time snooping through his best friend’s house until he knew the place inside out and had found every little hidden secret he could. And he  _ knew _ he’d found them all because he had a mental map drawn of the place with all of them marked. And that map had made it onto paper in his new notebook so he was  _ sure _ he’d marked all of the places.

And, you know, once his brain was set on making sure he knew every secret in the house, there was little else he could even do until it stopped so.

He spent probably a good day and a half searching and re-searching the whole house.

Did he feel bad? Yeah.

Was there anything he could do about it?

Not really.

Ultimately, even if Bozer found out that he’d gone snooping and memorized every inch of his house, Mac couldn’t do anything about it now and Bozer would either kick him out or wouldn’t care enough to be bothered. Honestly, Bozer probably  _ expected _ him to map out his house from top to bottom, just… Maybe not quite so thoroughly that he knew exactly where every chip in the paint was.

Still, it turned out to be an interesting few days and Mac learned a lot while Bozer was gone. He’d just have to find time to learn more when Bozer got back and inevitably brought all the things he’d taken with him back as well.

Including that bag of gear.

He’d need to go through that. His brain wouldn’t let him rest unless he did.

… God, he’d even hunted through all of the boxes and bins in the room he was staying in. He knew the contents of every single one of them.

Needless to say, as  _ fun _ as all that adventuring and searching had been, he was very happy when Bozer walked in the door in the mid-afternoon a few days after he left. That Jack was right on his heels, as was Riley, wasn’t particularly bothersome to Mac. Not at this point in time. He could get used to them.

He’d kept the house clean when he wasn’t tearing it apart to look for secrets, so at least when they walked in the house was still in order. He was just finishing up doing his dishes from lunch and was able to wipe his hands on a towel and come to greet them. He’d caved and shaved off his beard and moustache because it was  _ so fucking itchy _ and he’d trimmed up his hair so it actually looked sort of decent.

He could see the effect immediately, because both Riley and Jack did a rather comical double-take at the sight of him and Bozer lit up like a kid at Christmas.

“Mac,” He greeted, obvious tiredness draining out of him as he crossed the room to throw his arms around him, “Lookit you, man! You look like a  _ person.” _

It had Mac snickering as he returned the hug. “I  _ feel _ like a person.”

“Even better.”

They held each other a moment longer, and then parted with Bozer patting him on the back as he pulled away. The man continued to grin at him, eyes flickering over his form while he stepped away. Mac gave him a moment to stare without saying anything, allowing him proper time to process the clean clothes and relaxed body-language, and then turned his own attention to Jack and Riley.

Riley had a small bandage on her left cheekbone, and an obvious bruise on her chin, but overall looked fine, if tired. Jack looked… Well. He was a little hunched, clearly favoring one leg over the other and almost guarding his stomach with one of his arms. To say that made him suspicious would be an understatement. Even  _ Bozer _ looked a little ruffled, like he’d gotten into a fight.

He pushed the thoughts aside.

He could allow a ruffled look, or a pained look, from Jack. He looked like the kind of guy who’d throw down over someone so much as looking at Riley the wrong way. Mac hadn’t met many vets who  _ wouldn’t _ throw down for their loved ones, though, and there was clearly history between them.

Hey, he might be oblivious to people’s feelings toward  _ him _ or about what he was  _ saying _ about 99% of the time, but he had eyes, you know? It was easy to see the way Riley sort of seemed to half-hide behind Jack while they were walking in, and how they both stuck close to each other now. He imagined his presence had some effect on that.

Still, the first thing he managed to say when he finally opened his mouth was a sarcastic and disbelieving utterance of, “Think tank.  _ Sure, _ Boze.”

Everyone in the room froze and Mac almost smacked himself. You’d think that someone who had so much experience being quiet would be able to control his stupid mouth, but  _ no. _ And now he’d gone and gotten the whole atmosphere thrown off. God dammit.

Might as well run with it, though.

“Whatever,” He added, as flippantly as he could, “Not my business, but… Maybe try not to get visible injuries doing whatever you’re doing? Or, like… Injuries at all. Makes it hard to sell the story when you come back bruised and limping.”

Riley went visibly red, hand coming up to cover her bruised chin and Jack looked somewhere between furious and sheepish. Bozer just looked plain sheepish.

“Mac…” He began, hesitantly, “I―”

“Don’t,” Mac held up a hand, giving him a sympathetic look, “Don’t tell me. Don’t explain, it’s fine.”

“I don’t think it is,” Bozer replied, flushing a little. “And I think if you’re living in my house you should know? Especially if you… You know… Saw through the cover story…”

Mac considered that, then shrugged and waved his hand dismissively, “You can if you want, but I’m not particularly concerned.” A lie. A  _ blatant _ lie and only the last ten years kept him from tripping over it, “Just please tell me you’ve all been to the hospital or otherwise gotten medical treatment for whatever happened?”

This, he directed mostly at Jack, with his still-hunched posture and generally conflicted facial expression. Bozer and Riley were carrying themselves well, didn’t seem seriously injured. Bozer was (at least in high school) enough of a wimp that if he’d been hit anywhere seriously he’d be wincing and gritting his teeth through it, but he wasn’t, so he probably wasn’t injured past the little nick in his eyebrow.

“We did,” Bozer said, immediately, “We got cleaned up and checked out as soon as we came back. Jack’s fine, just bruised his ribs and sprained his ankle.”

Mac flushed a little, and he wasn’t sure why. “And you two?” He asked, hiking an eyebrow and ignoring the heat in his cheeks while Jack slowly started to look a little less conflicted.

“Oh, I’m golden,” Riley snorted, instantly, “Not a successful trip if I don’t smack my face on at least one table.”

“I’m fine,” Bozer promised, in turn, and motioned at his split eyebrow, “This is actually Riley’s fault.”

“I’m still not sorry.” She replied.

Mac couldn’t help a small laugh at that. “Okay. Good. Then I don’t care what you were doing. Like I said, it’s not my business.”

At that, Jack finally spoke, “You’re awfully calm about something that could potentially be extremely illegal.”

It was almost an accusing tone, but also straddled the line of relieved.

Mac could only shrug, “I’ve been living off of stolen food and sleeping under bridges for ten years. I’ve seen everything, man. As long as there’s no kids getting hurt, no one being raped, and no one being blatantly exploited I could not care less. And knowing Boze? None of that’s happening. So.”

“Nice standards,” Riley commented, rather dryly.

“Thanks, grew them myself.” Mac shot right back.

She blinked, a little surprised, then laughed. “Oh, Boze, I see why you like this guy.”

Bozer laughed, finally relaxing completely once more, “Believe it or not, he was way less mouthy and sarcastic in high school.” He paused, “Not necessarily any less morally grey, though. How many times did you break into the science lab?”

“Too many,” Mac sighed, a little wistfully. He’d give anything to go back to that, honestly. Anything to go back to the days where his biggest issue was getting caught breaking into the school after hours  _ again. _ “Those were simpler times.”

After that, once everyone had more or less relaxed, it was time for Mac’s least favorite thing―

Getting to  _ know _ people.

Jack and Riley obviously didn’t have plans to vacate any time soon, and he wasn’t feeling particularly anti-social today, so they all sat in the living room and he was forced to… Ugh…  _ Actually talk to them. _ Not that it was bad! He already knew he sort of liked Jack and Riley seemed cool, but… He just wasn’t good at this part. There was a reason he’d only ever really had Bozer growing up, after all. People weren’t his strong suit.

He guessed he was better at it now than he used to be, though, what with the crash course he’d gotten in reading people and using what he learned to his advantage to stay alive and stay hidden. There was just the issue of also having to open up about himself a little bit during this.

“I’m guessing living under bridges for ten years doesn’t leave you much time for hobbies, huh?” Riley mused, something like an hour later, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Not really, no,” He answered, “Unless you count improvising tools and weapons out of whatever I have available to me, I don’t get up to much aside from trying to stay on the move and eat.”

“You runnin’ from somethin’?” Jack asked, a little gruffly.

“Maybe,” Was his noncommittal answer.

“What could a sixteen year old run away from that would keep him on the move for ten years?” Riley snorted, incredulous, “That seems ridiculous.”

Mac didn’t comment on that, just sipped his drink and acted like he had nothing to say anyway. Bozer looked a little uncomfortable, but didn’t comment either. Didn’t tell them Mac’s story. Didn’t even open his mouth to allude to it, and Mac appreciated that.

The less people knew about Murdoc, the better. Boze might be cool with him staying here with Murdoc after him, but these guys probably wouldn’t be. Not that he would blame them. Anyone with sense would be wary of Murdoc.

The bastard.

Riley and Jack stayed for most of the day, and by the end of it Mac was… Well. He knew them better. Definitely liked them better. It was nice.

They all ate out back for dinner, and the atmosphere was… Really nice. Mac felt comfortable, even being outside and within view of anyone who set their mind to spying. He threw around plenty of paranoid glances, of course, but each time he started getting concerned, the friendly conversation and Jack’s oddly soothing voice pulled him back in.

Eventually they all headed back in, and Mac excused himself for a moment.

On his way back into the living room from the bathroom, he paused to listen to the conversation.

“― seems a little paranoid, is all.” Jack was saying, “You sure he’s okay?”

“Jack, he’s been living on the streets for ten years,” Bozer sighed, “Of course he’s paranoid.”

Mac leaned against the wall and decided to hear this out. Would there be more?

“I dunno that just living on the streets would make him act like that,” Jack said, “But if that’s the story he’s going with…”

“Jack, believe me when I say that Mac wouldn’t lie about it.” The insistence in Bozer’s voice, the confidence he had in that statement, made Mac feel a little warm. “Mac’s a good dude, okay? You don’t need to be worried about him turning on us and whether or not he’s ‘just been living on the streets’ for ten years isn’t my business to confirm or deny to you. If there’s more to it than that, we just gotta wait for him to decide he wants to tell us.”

“I guess you’re right,” Jack admitted after a moment. “S’pose the only way he’ll trust us enough is if we don’t pry into it, though.”

“Probably,” Bozer agreed.

Mac waited a moment longer, then returned to the room when the topic shifted elsewhere, sliding into the conversation with them with ease and a feeling of relaxation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I'm not working lmao  
> I managed one shift at that warehouse job and was pretty positive I could finish out my training week and then be good to go..... Only to wake up the next morning with my back locked up and everything from the hips down so freakin' stiff and sore I couldn't move. And then I found out they'd changed my shift so I had to be there an hour earlier everyday! Needless to say I ended up missing that day. And _then_ I found out that the only bus that could get me there on time is the Rapid Route bus which was about to stop running in the mornings. So it just was _not_ meant to be, apparently.  
> Back to trying to survive on the occasional commission I guess lmaooooo  
> On the bright side the stimulus checks helped us finally get all our stuff out of storage so that's nice!


	9. the other shoe

Mac guessed he wasn’t surprised that he managed to sort of integrate into Bozer’s new friend group over the next couple of months, or that he  _ stayed there _ for a couple of months in the first place.

He’d sort of expected to try and live out the winter, then warn Boze and his friends one last time about Murdoc since they were  _ clearly _ capable of defending themselves with minimal injuries, and take off back into the nothingness. Maybe with the burner phone Boze had given him for emergencies. Maybe without it.

But, well, it was spring now and Mac was having a hard time convincing himself to leave.

Nothing had gone wrong yet, he liked Jack and Riley a lot more than he’d initially expected, and being around Bozer again in the first place was incredibly freeing. He could almost pretend nothing was wrong. He wasn’t on the run. Murdoc wasn’t potentially tracking him every second of his fucking  _ life. _ His dad wasn’t trying to control him into doing what  _ he _ wanted him to do instead of whatever Mac may have decided to do with his life.

… But it wasn’t meant to be, he guessed.

The others had come back from another of their “talks” a few hours ago, and things were running smoothly. It was warm enough outside again that they could sit on Bozer’s back porch and drink and laugh it up without the night chill creeping in too badly, and that’s what they were doing.

Mac was sitting next to Jack, like he usually did nowadays, and he  _ may _ have been flirting a little bit and Jack  _ may have _ been flirting back. Mac knew his own was genuine, but it was hard telling if Jack was merely playing along or actually interested in return―he didn’t know him well enough to actually parse the truth that easily. And it was always hard when someone was being friendly, anyway.

Everything was going great, but something felt  _ wrong. _

Mac wasn’t sure what.

But  _ something _ felt wrong.

He was trying to ignore it, and just go on with his otherwise perfectly normal and relaxing evening, but it just kept nagging at him. He felt watched and uncomfortable. The feeling only increased the longer he sat outside with the others, so against his better judgement and what little social skill he actually had, he excused himself and stepped into his room. He still slept under the table regardless of Bozer’s constant offers to get him a mattress, and he was half-tempted to just go to bed right now. Curl up under the table and then take off at first light like he should have  _ months _ ago.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, instead, just inside the door, and tried to breathe.

It was entirely reasonable to think that maybe,  _ just _ maybe, he was being overly cautious. Being paranoid. Everything was  _ probably _ fine and he was just overreacting because it had been so long since something went wrong that he was starting to freak out wondering when the other shoe would drop.

He leaned against the wood, heaved a sigh, and listened to the sounds of the others coming into the house. He must have been gone longer than he felt like he was. They must be starting to get ready to head home, or at least coming in to escape the chill as it crept further and further into the air the longer the sun was down.

He’d need to sneak out of the bedroom so he didn’t look like he’d been hiding from them.

That was fine, though. He could manage that.

He was quiet and the door didn’t creak, so he just had to be careful not to knock anything over.

He popped the door open and peeked out, then quietly stepped out and walked quietly down the hall into the living room. He paused when he got there, looking through the room into the kitchen, where Bozer and Jack were talking.

“― Dunno, man. I guess I’ll wait for ‘em to call back. Must have been important,” Bozer was saying, fairly nonchalant but also looking just a bit worried, “But we both know that they won’t pick up if  _ I _ call  _ them. _ ”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, “Here’s hoping they don’t call me instead. I hate talking to those guys. Never even seen the fuckers in person, y’know? Makes it hard to feel like you should be trustin’ ‘em.”

Hesitating because he wasn’t sure he even  _ wanted _ to know who they were talking about, but fairly certain it must be someone above them in the chain of command at their “think-tank”, he stepped further into the living room.

“What’d I miss?” He asked, just to make his presence known.

All eyes snapped to him, and Bozer smiled, “Nothin’ important,” He assured him, “Just one of our bosses calling my phone. Waiting to see if they’ll call back, right now.”

“Ah,” Mac said, and he took up a position leaning against the door frame.

… Nothing to worry about then, right?

Right.

Definitely.

Before they could continue the conversation at all, Jack’s phone started going off. He and Bozer groaned, Riley gave the slightest hints of a flinch, and Mac swallowed. God, why was he so anxious? This wasn’t even  _ his _ boss!

Jack picked up, put the phone on speaker.

“What’s up, boss?”

The voice on the other end of the line snorted, and then said, “I  _ do _ hate to ignore Matty’s orders for your time off, but you’ve got a new job to be doing.”

And Mac’s blood ran cold  _ instantly. _

He knew that voice.

He  _ knew _ that voice.

Jack groaned again, and so did Bozer. Riley grumbled like she’d been personally insulted.

And Murdoc continued on the other end of the line, “Don’t worry,” He crooned, “This one’s much closer to home. I hear he’s been hiding out near Bozer’s place.”

_ Oh, God. _ Mac thought, horrified,  _ They work for my dad. _

And it made entirely too much sense, didn’t it? The think-tank cover, the constant excursions to other states and cities, the injuries they came back with almost every time. Bozer’s abundance of guns, ammo, and other tac gear. Riley’s terrifying computer prowess and prior criminal record. Jack’s presence on the team at all―everything clicked into place. They didn’t work for a think-tank. They worked for his  _ dad. _ The little intelligence agency his dad had been putting together when he was younger.

… And they didn’t even know.

Obviously.

“Fine, fine,” Jack was saying, “Who are we looking for?”

Mac pushed off the wall and retreated as quietly and as calmly as he could back toward his room. No need to rush. No need to make them freak out.

Still, he wasn’t quite to the room when Murdoc laughed and said, “Oh, I think Bozer knows him very well. His name is Angus MacGyver.”

And Mac stopped trying to be inconspicuous at that second.

He half-sprinted the rest of the way to the room and did his best not to slam the door even as he made his way quietly around the piles of boxes and dived under the table to start throwing his shit back in his bag where it belonged.

_ Fuck. _ He thought,  _ fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. _

God, he didn’t even have time to do this. He needed more time. He had to be able to spend at  _ least _ an hour wiping his prints off of everything here and a few more washing and plucking all of his hair out of the covers he’d been using and tracking down any stray hairs. Cleaning out the vacuum. Vacuuming. Cleaning out the vacuum  _ again. _

But no, no time.

He needed to  _ go. _

He’d just have to trust Bozer to dispose of any evidence, because that was his only chance. If Bozer worked for his dad then Murdoc couldn’t kill him, but  _ God _ would it be bad for him if Murdoc found out he’d actually  _ been here _ the whole time.

His heart was pounding and he was,  _ holy shit, _ completely terrified.

He hadn’t been this scared in years.

He slid back out from under the table just in time for someone to knock on the bedroom door. He froze. Swallowed. Tried to inch his way toward the window. He’d have to go out the window anyway, but especially if his only other exit was blocked.

He peeked out the blinds.

No one out back. Good.

Another knock.

“Mac?” Bozer asked.

Fuck, that reminded him. He’d need to ditch the burner phone. If it had been Bozer’s then they’d be able to track it, and if Bozer was  _ smart _ he’d tell them that Mac had stolen it. He had to delete everything off of it first, though.

God,  _ fuck. _

He was shaking.

He started to pull the blinds up as quietly as he could. Bit down hard on his lip as he stopped them about halfway and started to work on sliding the window open wide enough that he could squeeze out of it. Usually he’d throw the backpack through first, then squeeze through on his own, but he didn’t have time. The first thump Bozer heard would have him in the room, or worse―the first thump  _ Jack _ heard would have him outside and firing.

“Mac?” Bozer asked again, “You in there?”

_ Not anymore, _ Mac thought, right as he hefted himself up onto the window sill. He swung his legs out, turned onto his stomach, and pushed himself out backwards. Landed with a grunt and a thump in the back yard, just out of view of the deck and all the other windows.

He heard the bedroom door open, and he booked it as fast as he could while keeping his head down. He hopped the fence the same moment he heard the back door slide open.

“Mac!”

That was Jack.

And that was just too bad, because he wasn’t sticking around for this.

For all he may have trusted Boze, Jack, and Riley? He did  _ not _ trust them enough for this. Not Jack and Riley, at least. And he  _ definitely _ didn’t trust whoever other than his dad, Murdoc, and Matty that they were working for. He already didn’t trust his dad or Murdoc, and hadn’t been given much reason to trust Matty since he’d yet to meet her in person.

Better if he just took his junk and ran.

He was just glad that he’d had the continued forethought to keep all of his stuff under the table when he wasn’t using it. His sketchbook, pencils, the burner phone… All of his other gear. Everything, under the table.

He legged it into the nearby woods, through a few back yards, and eventually stumbled upon a house far too dark to be currently inhabited. Houses in this neighborhood, a couple of miles from Bozer’s, always had a light on if someone was home. Every house in the neighborhood at least kept nightlights on. Wax burners, fairy lights, things of that nature.

This house had none.

He still had a pile of cash from Bozer sitting in the front pocket of his backpack, so money wasn’t currently a concern.

What he  _ needed _ was a few sheets, some food, and probably at least one left-behind valuable item that he could hock later.

So he slid on a pair of gloves, picked the lock on the back door, snuck in and took what he needed. He’d long since gotten over the anxiety of breaking into houses, so at least the only reason his heart was pounding was the knowledge that Murdoc was still on his tail.

He took back off and didn’t come to a full stop again until he was well into the city and had come upon a Greyhound station. Was it a bad idea to walk right into a place that had cameras when he was on the run? Yep. But it was fine. He wouldn’t be sticking around wherever he booked a bus to. He’d be on the move again as soon as he got there―it was just that the bus offered him a way to cover a lot of ground very quickly.

So he walked up to the ticket desk, booked a ticket to some place in Washington, and sat down to wait. Pulled his phone out to check, mostly from habit, and found several texts from Bozer.

_ B: Mac? _

_ B: Mac are you okay? _

_ B: Mac please answer me dude what’s wrong? Is there something you didn’t tell us? Are you in trouble???? _

_ B: mac where are you _

He swallowed, looked away from his phone. Sighed and texted back.

_ M: that was murdoc. _

Was he about a half hour late? Yes.

But hopefully that would get his point across.

_ B: oh _

_ B: oh fuck _

_ B: are you ok????? where are you? _

_ M: i’m fine. _

And then, against his better judgement:

_ M: text you when i get a new burner. cant risk them tracking this one. _

_ M: be careful. stay safe. _

_ M: lie your ass off. _

There was a long moment of silence, and Mac’s bus pulled into the station.

_ B: ok. love you mac. _

_ M: love you too. _

And he turned off the phone and got on the bus.


	10. running again

Mac didn’t make it to Washington, and hadn’t expected to.

He got off the bus at a stop along the way in Northern Cali like most of the other passengers and simply walked off. It was three or four in the morning by then and he was more tired than he felt like he should be. Sleeping in a bed and sleeping every night for the last couple of months had softened him more than he’d thought.

But he pushed on.

Hotwired a car he found in a back alley and took off.

Drove it down back roads for the rest of the early morning and most of the day after that, then parked it calmly in a back alley a couple hundred miles from where he found it. Spent some time removing trace evidence with a critical eye and shaking hands. And then he walked off and weaved his way through the city he’d stopped in. He’d probably head east from here, then make his way up north a bit.

No doubt Murdoc would have someone waiting in Washington for his bus.

He’d have to hang out in Oregon for a while, most likely, and then duck out. Maybe head further east and hide out in Idaho. He’d never gone to Idaho before, so that would keep him a little safer while he waited for the search intensity to die down on the actual coast.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

But for the remainder of the day he hid out behind a dumpster and napped the best that he could given the circumstances. He’d have to move on as soon as he woke up―traveling at night was the only safe option when he was on foot. As long as he wore dark clothes and stayed off the main roads no one would ever catch him. Same couldn’t be said of driving.

That was dangerous no matter what time of day, but it was safer in the mornings than at night. No one was suspicious of a car passing through the morning traffic with everyone else but  _ everyone _ was suspicious of the lone car passing their house in the middle of the night.

Once night fell and he woke up from his nap, he hefted his backpack and hoofed it in a direction he figured was generally east.

He kept the burner phone in his pocket, broken down to its base components but there if he  _ really _ needed it.

He was not looking forward to the next couple of months.

A month later, he’d managed to nab himself a new burner phone. He turned on the old one long enough to get Bozer’s number, then broke it back down and discarded the battery along the side the road he was walking later that night. Discarded the sim card in someone’s back yard pond a day later. Tossed the rest of it onto the road during traffic the next morning and watched it fall to pieces.

And only once he’d made tracks and gotten far enough away from the last location where that old phone had been activated at, he texted Bozer.

_ M: new phone. _

_ M: you ok? _

The response, to his shock, was instantaneous.

_ B: murdoc is pissed, but im fine _

_ B: you? _

Mac tossed a look over his shoulder, ducking into an alleyway. It was early morning and he was getting ready to try and settle down for the day, but he had to text Bozer now that he could. He had to.

It was kind of just compulsive, y’know?

And after getting back in touch with Bozer and getting close with him again, he wasn’t surprised. He had the brainpower and the means to do stuff like this now, so he just… Had to. He knew if he didn’t do it it would drive him up the wall and it would probably worry Bozer if he went much longer without contacting him.

_ M: I’m alive and that’s all i can really tell you for sure _

He tucked himself down behind a dumpster, getting as comfy as he could and trying to stay out of sight.

_ M: take it murdoc realized i was with you, or…? _

He waited for a moment, head pillowed on his bag as usual and the coat he’d bought draped over himself as a blanket along with one of the sheets he’d snagged at that house when he’d first run off. If nothing else he guessed  _ this _ spoke to how well he was managing this time around.

_ B: oh god no, thank fuck _

_ B: but the fact that we ‘found you’ and you ‘got away as soon as we left you alone for a moment’ really seems to be chapping his ass _

Mac suppressed a laugh.

Leave it to Bozer to come up with a cover story that would keep all of them safe. Wasn’t  _ their _ fault if they caught him and he got away, after all. Even Murdoc wouldn’t think it was. After all, it had been ten years since he’d been around Bozer, so even he couldn’t be expected to know what Mac was capable of  _ now. _ And having caught him for any length of time would explain away any evidence he’d left behind and that they hadn’t been able to get rid of.

It was  _ also _ just straight up flattering to have it told that he’d escaped from three obviously experienced intelligence agents the moment they’d turned their backs for too long.

_ M: oh yeah, i bet it does _

_ M: so i take it jack and riles are with us on this? or…? _

_ B: nah theyre with us dont worry! _

_ B: i had to tell them the whole story and sort of swear that you wouldnt have lied to me before they fully got on our side but hey, thats normal _

_ M: thank god _

_ B: :) _

_ M: :) _

_ M: okay, glad that youre alright and theyre on our side _

_ M: im gonna hunker down for a couple hours. might talk to you when i wake up. _

_ M: love ya boze _

_ B: love you too bro! _

And Mac tucked the phone up under him to keep it safe, curled up tight, and went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just so you all know because I don't remember if I've said this yet - I'm seeing it every comment and kudo you leave and I'm appreciating it immensely, believe me. Responding individually just takes a lot of energy and I'm a little lacking on that at the moment.


	11. the best laid plans

Time passed, and Bozer kept Mac updated on the state of things with Murdoc, as well as Jack and Riley. It was too dangerous for multiple members of the team to be texting him frequently, and Bozer had to routinely let Riley wipe all trace of contact with Mac off his phone in case Murdoc had someone seize it to look for evidence.

But there was something that was eating at Mac.

He couldn’t just keep running, and he knew it. He was twenty-six, for Christ’s sake, and he hadn’t had a stable home to live in for ten years. Was it worth it to know he wasn’t being manipulated at every turn? Sure, sometimes.

But he wanted very little more than he wanted to go back to having that quiet, good feeling of being able to hang out with his friends. Of having a safe place to stay. Of not being on the streets, but not submitting to what was expected of him.

So it was with a lot of trepidation that he began the long journey south, back toward LA.

He wasn’t going to confront Murdoc directly―not if he could avoid it.

But if he could find his dad?

Oh, absolutely.

He was going to confront him and he was going to demand answers, and that he call Murdoc off before Mac had to do something even more drastic in order to keep himself safe.

He wasn’t a killer. He hated the idea of hurting anyone in a way that wouldn’t heal.

But if it meant getting Murdoc off of him?

He’d kill him. Absolutely.

Especially if he felt he was in danger, or that Bozer and Jack and Riley were in danger.

For most of the trip south, he fashioned improvised weapons.

Namely, he filled a pocket of his backpack with glass bottles and rags, and kept a couple of bottles of rubbing alcohol and motor oil around for obvious reasons. While he was walking along empty roads at night, he spent a lot of time mixing the alcohol and oil into the bottles and using a length of twine to keep the rag and lids in place while they were in his backpack. He didn’t want to have to use them, but he wouldn’t hesitate if he needed to do it.

He kept one of the finished mollies in his coat pocket, along with a lighter.

It made him feel marginally safer than he’d have felt going into this situation without anything to defend himself or cause a distraction with… But he didn’t envy anyone he used these against in the future.

… And he especially didn’t envy Murdoc, if it came to that, because if he chucked a molly at Murdoc? He was aiming for that bastard’s face.

His first order of business when he crossed back into Cali was to track down someone who might know where his father was.

Seeing as he could only think of his uncle Jonah, he gritted his teeth. Jonah and his father hadn’t parted on good terms, but he imagined that Jonah  _ probably _ kept tabs on his dad, and vice versa. And  _ he _ wasn’t on good terms with Jonah, either―no more than he was on good terms with his dad… But the thing was that, if he needed to go up  _ against _ his dad?

Jonah would help him, and of that he was certain.

Still, the issue with that was that he didn’t have the  _ foggiest _ fucking clue where Jonah was, and didn’t have any way to find out.

So, eventually, he stopped in at an internet cafe, gave a sheepish smile as he signed in to use a computer under the name  _ Jonah O’Malley, _ since he usually used O’Malley anyway and the name Jonah was on his mind, and sat down.

_ M: hate to ask but what’s an email i can reach riles at? _

_ M: need to talk to her _

This was one reason he was in the internet cafe, but there were other reasons. Primarily he needed to set up a new email so he could work on some other important things, and he needed to start researching what he could that would help him in finding and convincing Jonah to help him out. He could find his dad once he had Jonah, but there were more pressing matters.

Bozer replied about fifteen minutes later with an email, and by then Mac had set up a new account to message her with.

_ M: cool, thanks _

_ M: she’s expecting an email then, right? _

_ B: mhm! _

Great.

_ J(M): Alright miss hacker extraordinaire, let’s cut to the chase. I need to track somebody down - got any tips? _

Could he have texted her? Sure. But emailing her from a new account was safer, especially since he wouldn’t have any connection to this computer or the account. The phone would be an issue if he talked to her with it too often. A new email? Not at all.

Especially if he was careful.

_ R: yeah, leave it to the expert lol. Who are we looking for? _

Solid advice, and it made him muffle a laugh.

_ J(M): Man by the name of Jonah Walsh. He used to work with my dad. _

_ R: aight, give me a hot minute [thumbs up] _

So he waited, and he did some research while he did. Eventually he saw he had a reply from her, and he’d gathered enough information to more or less be able to set out once he knew where Jonah was.

_ R: Found him. Lives in LA, of all places. Operates under the name Dennis Quade running a pawn shop downtown. Moved there and started the business up about six years ago, applied for a new social security number to do it. _

_ J(M): Thanks, Riles _

_ R: anytime, bud. Just keep in touch, okay? _

_ J(M): I’ll do my best. _

So he spent the remaining time that he had on the computer finding the shop, plotting his route, and wondering if he might need to sell off some stuff before he got there just in case. He’d been picking up whatever mildly pricey items he could from stores and off sidewalks to sell later, if he happened to end up needing the money… It couldn’t hurt to have some extra and maybe make himself look presentable before he showed up at his uncle’s place.

In the end, he found the nearest seedy pawn shop and sold off a couple of the more expensive items he had on hand, and he walked out with intent to at least buy something to eat and something to wear. It may very well benefit him to show up at Jonah’s place still windswept and scraggly looking, but if he could get the guy’s help it would be good to have at least  _ some _ clothes that didn’t look like he’d dug them out of a dumpster.

So he stopped by a fast food place, ordered something, and got ready to spend a couple of hours sleeping in an alleyway before he took off back toward LA. It was another day or so’s walk from here, if he walked fast.

… So he’d walk fast.

And he’d pray that Jonah would at least be sympathetic to him trying to stay well away from his dad. Because that was all he needed―Jonah’s sympathy. He could work off of that to get anything else. If Jonah only took enough pity to let him stay a couple of nights, he could snoop and find out where his dad was hiding.

Jonah had to know, especially if he was in LA. That was too close to his dad’s little agency for Jonah to not be keeping an eye on it, and on his dad.

He set out at sunset after a brief nap, grim and not terribly optimistic about how well this was going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say I'm really glad y'all are liking this so far! I know the beginning kind of dragged before we got to the action, but it's gonna be a little more hectic from here on out, I can tell you that
> 
> I really appreciate all the comments and kudos!!
> 
> See y'all next Friday >w>


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